


30 Days of Femslash

by heart_nouveau



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Candles, Dancing, F/F, First Date, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, Love Letters, Museums, Pets, Road Trip, Walking at Midnight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1872405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heart_nouveau/pseuds/heart_nouveau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30 days of drabbles for various ASOIAF F/F pairings. Tags will be updated as new chapters are added.</p><p>(Discontinued.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Date (Asha/Arya)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this list](http://roseroadkingsroad.tumblr.com/post/90217512259/30-day-femslash-challenge) of prompts, and inspired by litchick_08's excellent 30 day challenge. It seemed like a fun idea to try to write some out-of-the-box femslash pairings.
> 
> I most likely won't finish this in 30 consecutive days, but where's the harm in trying?

 

Arya wasn’t the kind of girl who got nervous. She didn’t second-guess herself or worry about little things – worrying was for her sister Sansa, or their mother. But Arya could honestly say that the fifteen minutes she’d spent hovering in front of the campus coffeehouse, debating a thousand times whether she should go in and sit down or keep awkwardly guarding the door outside, were among the most nerve-wracking in her life. Even waiting for her college acceptance letters hadn’t felt anywhere as bad as this.  
  
But when that familiar figure pulled up to the curb in her motorcycle, slinging her helmet under one arm as soon the bike came to a stop, Arya’s nerves calmed down for a moment. _Okay,_ _she’s here_ , she thought, trying not to feel pathetically relieved. _She came. She’s actually here._  
  
The woman put up a hand in greeting, sliding off her bike in a movement that made Arya bite her lip, hard. Then she approached up the sidewalk with the same easy gait that had caught Arya’s eye across the campus gym during orientation week, literally stopping Arya in her tracks to watch. It had seemed too good to be true when Arya attended a meeting of the all-girls’ boxing club the next week, trying things out like everyone told her you were supposed to when you were a freshman, and one of the student advisors turned out to be a very familiar person who introduced herself as a junior named Asha Greyjoy. Arya hadn’t missed a single meeting since.  
  
“Hey, Arya,” Asha said, mouth spreading into the easy, sideways smirk that made Arya want to groan and start rolling around on the floor. One good thing about being sexually frustrated at the gym was that you could just start punching things harder to cover it up. But now Arya had no cover as she tried hard not to stare at the way Asha’s grey tank top was riding up underneath her beat up jacket to reveal defined abs, and how a few of Asha’s knuckles were taped up like a wordless _don’t mess with me_. Catching Arya looking, Asha grinned and shook her hand out. “Just came from the gym. I was getting in a few practice rounds.”  
  
“You had practice today?” Arya echoed, hating the uncertain note in her voice. For once she felt sympathy for her sister, all those conversations she remembered Sansa having with her friends about their endless crushes. Arya had always made fun of that – dating had always seemed pretty black-and-white to her, like everything else.  
  
Then again, Arya didn’t know if her older sister had ever texted an acquaintance to grab coffee, while secretly intending to turn things into a date. That seemed like pretty sketchy, Arya-only territory.  
  
But Asha didn’t seem to notice anything. She pushed a piece of brown hair out of her face and grinned at Arya. “Not for the club, just brushing up. Don’t want to get rusty, especially with all you rookies I gotta beat into shape.”  
  
Arya laughed. “Oh, please. More like we keep you on your toes.”  
  
Asha made a harsh little amused sound, and something tightened in Arya’s stomach. “C’mon,” Asha said, and held the door open for Arya to go in before her.  
  
“So what did you want to talk about?” Asha asked as they joined the line inside. “You want some pointers, discuss your technique? Because I think you’re doing pretty well, for a first-time—”  
  
“Actually, I didn’t want to talk about the club,” Arya interrupted, the words coming out a little more hastily than she wanted. She dug her nails into her palm, fighting the urge to grit her teeth, and looked Asha squarely in the face. “I, uh, just wanted to talk to you.”  
  
Asha looked down at her. “Yeah?” Her eyebrows quirked in curiosity. “What about?”  
  
They’d reached the front of the line. “Hi, what can I get you today?” the barista said. Arya bounced a little on her toes, filled with nervous energy. “An Americano, please. Asha?” She directed the question over her shoulder at Asha, too keyed up to look back.  
  
Asha arched an eyebrow at her. “Espresso, double shot.” She reached into her jacket to pull out her wallet.  
  
“No. Here,” Arya said, ducking under Asha’s arm and shaking back her hair to look the cashier in the eye. She felt ridiculously short, and young, but – fuck it. “I’m paying for both of us.” As if that didn’t make it clear enough, she added loudly, “It’s on me.” The cashier shrugged and bent over to punch the order into the computer. Her heart pounding with adrenaline and nerves, Arya turned around to face the older girl.  
  
“Oh,” said Asha. There was only a split second of pause. “So it’s like that, huh?”  
  
Arya set her money on the counter, turned around, and gazed up at Asha. “Yeah,” she said baldly. “It’s like that.”  
  
For a moment they stared at one another, the words hanging in the air between them like a dare. Then Asha’s face cracked into a grin. “You’re pretty bold, Arya, you know that?” she said.  
  
Arya had to stifle a smile at the fact that she, Arya, a scrappy little freshman who didn’t know anybody at this university, had managed to make a girl as undeniably badass and cool as Asha Greyjoy look so surprised and impressed.  
  
“Is that a problem?” she challenged, raising both eyebrows. But instead of answering, Asha just laughed, reached out to hook an arm through Arya’s, and pulled her away from the counter.  
  
“Come on, kid,” she said. “Let’s go grab a table.”  
  
And, honestly, that was all the answer Arya needed.

 


	2. Late Night Conversation (Cersei/Margaery)

 

Cersei’s head was throbbing. She ran the pad of one manicured finger around the rim of her wine glass before reaching up to slowly massage her temples.

It had been hardly an hour since she’d given up staring at her bedroom ceiling and moved downstairs as noiselessly as possible, trying not to disturb the nighttime stillness of the house. Forty-five minutes, and she was already halfway through a bottle of wine, sitting here seething in the dark. In other words, just another night.

If she popped an Ambien now, Cersei thought, weighing the odds, she might actually be able to get some sleep before morning. She didn’t even know what time it was, although she thought the oven had read something like 2 AM when she’d moved past, the glaring green letters blurring together in her peripheral vision. Her nights all seemed to blend together now - they’d all been uniformly bad since Joff had gotten engaged.

 _Well, speak of the devil._ There was a soft sound from the kitchen, and from the doorway came her son’s fiancé, slipping out of the darkness like a shadow. Dressed in a mint silk robe falling open over a matching nightie, slim legs poking out underneath, the girl looked surprisingly young and innocent for someone who was the current cause of all Cersei’s sleeplessness. Then again, “young and innocent” was sort of Margaery’s trademark. _False advertising doesn’t even begin to cover it._

Margaery stepped forward into the half-light that fell across the kitchen table, and did a good job of looking surprised to see Cersei sitting there. “Oh! I didn’t know anyone else was down here,” she said in a sweet half-whisper, wrapping both arms around herself. “I just came down for some water.”

 _Liar_ , Cersei almost said, but refrained. Innocent as her son’s fiancé might seem, she could tell Cersei that the sky was blue and Cersei wouldn’t believe her. She leaned back in her chair. “Hello, Margaery.”

Margaery crossed to the refrigerator to pour herself a glass of water, stifling a kittenish yawn with the back of her hand. She settled into the seat next to Cersei without being asked. “Can’t sleep, Mom?” she said sympathetically.

 _Yes, and that’s thanks to you and your scheming, manipulative family_. Cersei scooped up her wineglass and held it closer to her chest, a few precious inches farther away from Margaery. “I’ve told you many times that you may call me Cersei.”

Margaery had the grace to dimple up into a pretty smile. “Of course, Cersei.” She tucked one leg under the other, foot dangling down against the leg of her chair. Then she took a sip of water, brown eyes watching Cersei closely over the rim of her glass. “So… what’s on your mind, to keep you up so late?”

“Just… the wedding. Things.” Cersei flicked a few dismissive fingers in the air, her mouth tightening into a line that didn’t even vaguely approach a smile.

Her son’s fiancé’s face remained all sweetness. “You shouldn’t worry so much, Cersei. You need your rest. My family is taking care of every detail of the wedding.”

 _Exactly my point_. “Are you trying to tell me I look old without my beauty sleep? Because believe me, I know.”

“Oh no, I think you’re beautiful,” Margaery said sincerely. She leaned forward, mint green slip falling down to reveal a few more inches of bare skin, and clasped Cersei’s hand as it rested on the table.

Cersei pinned her with a look, fighting the urge to move her hand away. It was like having one leg stuck in a bear trap. “Flattering me isn’t going to win you any points. Joffrey’s already infatuated with you, unfortunately for him.”

The younger woman gave a bell-like little laugh. “Well, how do you know he’s the one I’m really interested in?” And before Cersei could react, even had the chance to register what was happening, she ran one thumb slowly over Cersei’s knuckles, and then up Cersei’s wrist.

Cersei caught her breath, flicking her eyes from Margaery’s hand to her face. Margaery gazed back, brown eyes wide in her feline little face. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

There was a meaningful pause. “Just… trying to help you relax,” the younger woman said at last, her voice suggesting anything but.

Cersei felt something rigid shift in her chest. There were goosebumps running across her skin from Margaery’s touch. “I don’t—”

“ _Shh_.” Margaery inched forward in her chair, moving her hand up the side of Cersei’s arm, farther and farther up. To her surprise Cersei found she couldn’t move, fixed to the spot with disbelief and growing arousal.

“I don’t want you to worry about _anything_ ,” Margaery said in a whisper, just as her hand reached the side of Cersei’s face, cupping her jaw through the loose fall of Cersei’s half-pinned up hair, and she leaned forward and kissed Cersei just as Cersei was about to forget this insanity and the hot feeling between her legs and stand up, pull away.

At first Cersei was too shocked to respond. But Margaery pushed her tongue into Cersei’s mouth, cupping Cersei’s breast in one hand, leaning forward… and then Cersei gave up. She leaned back in her chair and let her son’s fiancé climb into her lap, straddling her, let the heat of Margaery’s body and mouth chase away everything else on her mind just for one night.

There would be plenty of time to think about everything in the morning. This, whatever it was…

This didn’t change a thing.

 


	3. Dancing (Irri/Doreah)

 

“Do you want a drink?”

Irri can hardly hear Dany’s friend over the clamor of the bar. It’s packed in here, music pumping into every corner of the room, and she’d quickly lost sight of the familiar flash of Dany’s white-gold hair when her best friend ran off to say hi to someone in the crowd.

Irri doesn’t usually go out on Friday nights. Life as a first-year nurse has been so hectic and stressful that she’s hardly had time to breathe, much less relax or spend much time with any of her friends. Dany practically had to kidnap her to make her come tonight, dragging her out of her apartment with dire warnings that Irri might die of lack of social life if she didn’t start making more of an effort. “We used to go out all the time in college!” Dany said brightly, conveniently forgetting that Irri had never been much of a party animal back then either.

And now, Irri thinks with the stabby feeling that her shyness sometimes turns into, Dany has left her alone at the bar with someone she barely knows.

Doreah is gazing down at her expectantly, one slim arm outstretched to catch the bartender’s attention. She stands at least six inches taller than Irri, all tanned skin and long dark hair; intricate tattoos span her back and arms, intertwining down the length of her arms, shown off to perfection by her beaded halter top. Next to her, Irri feels like a socially awkward dwarf. Or maybe a very short nun. (At least she left her cardigan in coat check.) “Hey, Irri?”

“Um…” She wants to say no, but the thought of standing around here sober makes her want to cry. “Um, yeah, okay. Whatever you’re having.”

Doreah turns away and Irri folds her arms over her chest, trying to take up as little space as possible. She feels weird in her little black dress, and people keep bumping into her as they move past the bar. Being short sucks.

But before she knows it there’s a drink being pushed into her hands and Doreah’s sliding into place beside her in front of the bar. “Rum and coke,” the other woman says, winking. There are a few moments where they don’t speak, although the silence is quickly filled by the noise of the bar. Irri sips her drink, trying to remember what she knows about Doreah, who she’s only met in passing at a couple of Dany’s artist parties.

“You all right?” Doreah speaks up suddenly. When Irri looks up, startled out of her thoughts, Doreah chuckles and smiles. “You just seem a little… Look, I just want to make sure everyone has a good time. It’s kind of my thing.”

Irri gives an embarrassed laugh, chewing on the end of her drink straw. “Yes… I’m fine. I just… haven’t been out in a while.” She pauses. “Work has been really stressful, and…”

She shrugs, flushing with embarrassment as she tries to find words for how out of place she feels. But Doreah tips her head back and shrugs right back, leaning against the bar like she owns the place. “So what? You’re out, you’re hot, and you look fucking sexy in that dress. You deserve to have a good time.” Doreah laughs. “And no, I don’t say that to all of the girls.”

 _That’s right_ , Irri remembers suddenly, _Doreah’s bi_. That’s what Dany told her last time. And now that she’s standing this close to Doreah she can sort of see it, in the way that Doreah looks at her and doesn’t look away, making mere eye contact feel more suggestive than anything Irri’s felt in a while. The realization, and the note of whatever it is in Doreah’s raspy, sexy voice, makes Irri blush and look at her feet.

But Doreah’s looking at her with warm, liquid brown eyes, in a steady way that makes Irri forget about 45-hour work-weeks, feeling so tired she could cry, and the overwhelming stress of her new life. There’s also something else running through Irri’s body, a feeling of electric possibility, something that she hadn’t felt since she broke things off with Rakharo last year. It could just be the alcohol speaking. But then again… 

A new song starts, and the crowd shifts with movement and excitement. “Come on,” Doreah says, setting her drink on the bar and extending her hand to Irri, “let’s dance.”

Doreah’s smile gleams in the darkness. Irri’s stomach explodes with butterflies, but she doesn’t hesitate. She takes Doreah’s hand and lets the other woman lead her onto the dance floor.

 


	4. Kisses (Dany/Doreah)

 

Dany’s biting her neck, and it’s driving Doreah fucking crazy. She squirms under the other girl, Dany’s weight pinning her to the bed – Doreah’s girlfriend may be petite, but she’s strong. Dany’s lips trail down onto Doreah’s collarbone and Doreah groans, sliding her hands onto the arch of Dany’s lower back and even lower.

Dany sits upright almost instantly, long white-blonde hair tumbling wildly over her shoulders. “No touching,” she commands. “You promised.”

“Right, right.” Doreah heaves a sigh and removes her hands, shifting her hips in frustration.

Dany’s voice takes on a teasing, mischievous note. “Next time I’ll just have to tie your hands together, won’t I?”

“Put your money where your mouth is,” Doreah challenges, panting slightly. Dany is such a control freak when it comes to messing around – she’s got this thing for making out, but always puts the brakes on just when things start getting good. Sometimes they end up kissing for hours before going any further. It’s the sweetest agony, like kissing someone in high school in the backseat of their car when you have a curfew and both of you are scared to go too far. As a grown woman who fully enjoys being able to do everything she was denied as a kid, Doreah finds this much more appealing than she would’ve expected.

Dany leans down and gently licks a line around Doreah’s ear. “No touching,” she repeats decisively, hot breath on Doreah’s earlobe, and Doreah groans with anticipation, hardly able to keep her body still.  

Finally Dany leans up and pulls her shirt over her head, tossing it over the side of the couch in one easy movement. She’s not wearing a bra – she’s never wearing a bra – and she sits back and watches the expression on Doreah’s face with a satisfied smile threatening to break out across her face.

“Good girl,” she says after a few minutes as Doreah just watches her, taking her in, not touching, practically vibrating with the effort it takes not to move. “ _Now_ you can touch.” Doreah groans with relief, and does as she’s told, running her hands down Dany’s spine and cupping the vulnerable curve of Dany’s lower back.

“I’d do anything for you, you know that?” she breathes, gazing up at Dany. So gay, but it’s true. At least it feels true, right now.

“Prove it,” Dany says, placing her hands over Doreah’s on her own breasts, arching her back a little as she moves under Doreah’s grasp. Her eyelashes flutter as she blinks, biting her lip, staring down at Doreah with hot fondness.

The way that makes Doreah feel is almost overwhelming. “Someday I will.” She bites her lip, something surprisingly powerful welling up in her chest. “I promise.”

 


	5. Candlelight (Selyse/Melisandre)

 

Melisandre liked baths so hot they scalded. She liked to keep her own rooms humid, far hotter than anything Selyse had experienced since leaving the Reach, and when she visited Selyse’s chambers she always lit more candles than any sept could need. But Selyse had always known there was something truly holy about Melisandre, holy in a visceral way that demanded to be felt.

In Selyse’s chambers now they moved together, naked bodies locking into place under the light of a hundred guttering candles. Selyse used to be self-conscious about her small breasts and skinny legs compared to the lush curves of Melisandre’s body, until Melisandre told her that their physical bodies were only vessels for the Lord of Light and vanity had no meaning in his eyes. ( _Easy for you to say when you look like that,_ Selyse had thought, and immediately flushed with the meanness, the pettiness of her thoughts.)

Now Melisandre crouched above Selyse on the bed, both women kneeling with Melisandre’s thigh pressed tantalizingly between Selyse’s own. The red woman held a thick candle suspended in the air between them; her startling gaze was fixed on Selyse.

“Pain is only a physical manifestation of weakness,” she said intently, those wide eyes boring into Selyse’s. “Feeling it reminds us that we are mortal, but succumbing makes us weak. We must embrace any discomfort to truly serve the Lord of Light.” Leaning slowly back, she tipped the candle slightly, a dribble of hot red wax falling onto the skin above her breasts. She hissed and tipped back her head, mouth opening into a silent gasp, and the sharp points of her nipples arched into the air like drops of blood against her creamy skin. Her thigh moved between Selyse’s legs and Selyse gasped, shocked to the core by the bolt of heat that leapt through her body.

She was worried for Melisandre but as if the other woman had read her mind, Melisandre shook her head once briefly. “It doesn’t hurt me,” the red woman said, melodic voice sounding almost harsh. “Here.” She reached for Selyse’s hand and pressed the candle into it, but Selyse balked.

“I can’t—I don’t want to hurt you,” she protested, but Melisandre made a noise of derision. “How could you? I am protected by the Lord of Light—and so are you, Selyse. But you must believe.”

So Selyse took the candle, reaching gingerly to hold it aloft between them. Mindful of the jumping flame, leaning back so that their bodies only met where they interlocked at the waist, she tipped the candle slowly, hesitantly. A splatter of wax fell onto the priestess’s right breast—and the red woman hissed, arching her back. “Again,” she ordered, and Selyse couldn’t keep her eyes off of the look on the priestess’s face, the mixture of agony and ecstasy that crossed it. Every time she tipped her hand to make the wax fall, Melisandre’s face contorted and she let out a harsh sound of pleasure, gasps issuing louder and louder, moving her entire body so that her thigh rubbed between Selyse’s own thighs. The heat and noise and motion mounted until Selyse couldn’t take it any more—and she found almost unbearable release with her legs quaking and arms quivering, body and vision filled with heat.

When she finally focused her eyes, she saw that red streaks of wax had fallen across Melisandre’s body like claw marks or blood – on her collarbone, across her breasts, on her lower abdomen, even on the dark red hair curling between her legs. Melisandre hardly seemed to notice, and now sat staring at Selyse, her wildcat eyes widening. Her arms shaking, Selyse lowered the candle in one hand.

“Now,” said the priestess, reaching to take the candle, her rich voice lowering to an intense hum, “it’s your turn.”

She was afraid of the pain, but reminded herself that pain was only a state of mind. As Melisandre lifted the red candle between them, she managed to quell her fear. _I must believe. I must trust in R’hllor… and in her._

The wax fell on her skin, a sear of heat that almost instantly subsided into pain that was not pain, and Selyse suddenly understood.

 


	6. Midnight Walk (Arya/Margaery)

 

The worst thing about South Carolina summers was the heat. Only at night did the air cool down, making it feel even the slightest like the summers up north.

When her parents announced they’d be taking a house in Hilton Head for the season, Arya hadn’t thought much of it. She hadn’t known it would mean a prolonged, three-month version of the social gatherings she hated so much at home. No one had mentioned that _all_ of the neighboring houses in their gated community would be filled with prominent political families the Starks had to make nice with, and that Arya would always have to be on her best behavior.

Arya had pretty much resigned herself to the fact that she was allergic to good behavior, so to say that the summer so far had been a challenge would be a definite understatement. 

At night, at least at this hour—so late that even the adults sipping cocktails and playing endless hands of gin rummy on the porch had gone to bed—there was no chance of running into anyone. Arya was used to growing up in a crammed household, but here there was always some new adult to make painful small talk with, or some family friend who she’d inevitably have to force a smile for as they gushed they hadn’t seen her since she was _this_ tall. Her parents were always off at cocktail parties, and with Jon and Robb both working in D.C. and only able make it down on random weekends, Arya was starved for company. She was sick of playing with Rickon, and hanging out with Bran these days felt like reading the dictionary. She missed her friends so much it was insane.

At least she had her dog. Nymeria was sleeping by the entryway, but woke up with a sleepy start when Arya nudged her awake, clipping the leash onto her collar. “Come on, Nym, we’re going for a walk.” If anyone ever found out about her midnight walks, at least she could say that she was safe.

As soon as she made it out the back door with Nymeria’s leash in hand, Arya inhaled deeply and started walking quickly down the driveway, feeling like it was the first time she’d been able to breathe freely all day.

Slipping out of the wrought-iron gate of their house, Arya moved past the next few homes, ornate white facades looming up in the darkness—and her heart almost stopped when she caught something moving out of the corner of her eye. But Arya’s heart stopped pounding when she realized that it was only a girl, walking down the drive of the house a few doors away. She wrapped Nymeria’s leash around her hand a couple more times, slowing down.

“Hey,” the stranger called, quickening to reach the end of the drive. “You’re Arya,” she said, and Arya suddenly recognized her. It was Margaery Tyrell, one of the girls who spent the day lying out in bikinis with Sansa’s clique, their beach towels littered with gossip magazines and sunscreen bottles. They’d never spoken before.

“Yeah,” Arya said warily. She came to an uneasy stop, tugging her dog a few steps closer to her side.

“I’m Margaery,” the other girl said, opening her house’s gate and stepping through. Dressed in a loose white dress and flip-flops, hair pulled back in a messy knot, she acted as if it was the most normal thing in the world to run into someone outside in the middle of the night. When Arya didn’t respond, she nodded at Nymeria. “What’s her name?”

“Nymeria,” Arya said curtly. She watched the older girl move forward and offer her hand, then drop to her knees to start petting Nymeria. “Hey, pretty girl,” she cooed, then glanced up at Arya, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “I like the name. She’s such a sweetie.”

Arya made a noncommittal noise, closely observing the older girl as she petted Nym’s ears, making little baby sounds. She had to be older than Sansa, and she looked like she understood the kinds of grown-up things that Arya didn’t ever want to have to understand. As if sensing Arya’s eyes on her, Margaery looked up and grinned. “So, do you usually walk your dog in the middle of the night?”

In spite of herself, Arya laughed. “Only when it’s the only alone time I can get.” She shrugged. “This is the first summer we’ve been down here. I don’t—I don’t know many people." 

“Oh,” said the older girl. She sounded sympathetic. “I know. It doesn’t seem like much a vacation when your family’s networking all time, does it?” Arya shook her head. “You’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

Arya finally gave in. “How come you’re up so late?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Margaery said simply. She hesitated, as if she was going to say something more, but then let out a half-breath and smiled. She smiled more easily than anyone Arya had ever seen. “So… do you mind if I join you? We can talk,” she offered.

Arya paused. Strange company was better than no company, and even if this was a little unexpected, she was not in a position to turn down potential friends. “Yeah, okay,” she said, and Margaery fell into step beside her. When she glanced sideways with another little smile for Arya, Arya let her mouth crimp up into an answering line.

They walked slowly down the moonlit lane beneath the Spanish moss, the balmy midnight air full of promises of conversations yet to come.

 


	7. Adopting a Pet (Dany/Sansa)

 

Sansa doesn’t know why it feels like such a thrill to be holding her girlfriend’s hand as they walk through the aisles of the Humane Society, but it does.

“This is so sad. I just want to adopt all of them,” Dany says in her ear, nuzzling her neck slightly. She leans over to put her arm around Sansa’s waist, her wrist ringed with bracelets. It hadn’t taken much to get Sansa’s vegan, animal-loving girlfriend to agree to adopt a dog—in fact, it had been Dany’s idea. But Dany always follows her heart, she’s so passionate about everything, and Sansa always feels like she has to be extra cautious to balance things out. She was the one who made them wait exactly a year before moving in together, and another six months before seriously discussing pet adoption. She wanted to make sure their relationship could withstand all the changes. Sansa knows what it was like to be in a bad relationship, and she’s willing to do a lot to preserve what she knows is a good one.

The place is busy on this Saturday afternoon, humming with plenty of other couples, high school kids, families, all kinds of people. Sansa leans back and wraps an arm around Dany’s waist. “I know,” she says softly.

Then she sees her. A beautiful grey dog with a long nose and sad blue eyes, sitting curled up in the corner of her cage. “Hey there,” Sansa says, letting go of Dany and walking forward. She gets down on her knees and extends her hand through the bars of the cage. “Hey, girl. Aren’t you just so sweet.”

The dog looks at her uncertainly, but Sansa keeps on cooing. Finally the dog moves tentatively forward and licks her fingers.

Feeling elated, Sansa glances at the tag on the dog’s cage. “ _Husky/malamute mix_ , 1 year,” it reads. And in the spot for the name, it says, “Lady.”

“What do you think, Sans?” her girlfriend says, squatting down beside her.

Sansa half-turns to look at Dany, and she can't stop smiling. “This one. I want this to be our dog.”

 


	8. Love Letters (Sansa/Jeyne)

 

> _OMG - so last week I totally almost slept through my econ midterm, but thankfully my roommate came home just in time. Turns out I operate well under stress, because I made it there just in time and just found out I got an A-! Adrenaline, huh? It was almost as scary as the time that Ms. Mordane caught us gluing her purse to her desk in first grade._

Sansa lifted her hands from her laptop and bit her thumb thoughtfully, staring at what she had written.

> _Anyway, I miss you a lot, Jeyne. I miss your hair, your smile…_

She paused, before deleting that last line.

> _Can’t wait to see you at Thanksgiving this year._
> 
> _xoxo Sansa_

She hit send and clicked over to look at the case brief she still needed to finish for tomorrow’s con law class. The library was quiet this time of night, but Sansa somehow could never resist procrastinating when it came to emailing Jeyne. Now she really needed to get to work. Biting her lip in determination, she turned off her laptop wifi, pulled her open textbook into her lap, and settled down to read.

When Sansa got back to her apartment two hours later, there was already a response email waiting for her.

> _Hey Sans,_
> 
> _Of course you do well under pressure – remember that time that Arya almost mass texted everyone in your phone_ that _picture (you know the one) and you had to bribe her to stop? Anyway, not surprised you did well on your midterm, miss pre-law. Over here, studio art is TOTALLY kicking my ass. I have to prepare an entire portfolio by next Monday so if you don’t hear from me from a couple days don’t freak – it’s only because I’ll be on total lockdown._
> 
> _Can’t wait to see you this break either!! Looking forward to watching movies together again – maybe we should watch_ The Notebook? ;)
> 
> _love J xx_

Sansa reread the email in one breathless go. She couldn't stop herself from smiling, even as she nervously scraped her nails hard into the palm of her other hand.

Nothing in Jeyne’s email even suggested that the last time she and Sansa had watched that movie together they’d ended up making out on the couch, legs hooked together and Jeyne’s fingers twining through Sansa’s hair and pulling slightly so that it hurt just the right amount. Next time, who knew what might happen?

Maybe it wasn’t what best friends were supposed to do – Sansa didn’t know. All she knew was that she couldn’t _wait_ to go home for Thanksgiving.

 


	9. Road Trip (Sansa/Margaery, Sansa/Mya)

 

They’re stopped outside a produce stand somewhere on the highway between Pescadero and San Francisco when Mya confronts her.

Margaery and Sansa have been meaning to get together ever since Sansa transferred from USC back to her northern state school; Margaery was the one who suggested a road trip, saying that Sansa never got to see enough of California in her brief two years out here. But she hadn’t expected Sansa to bring a new friend from up north—and after meeting Mya, Margaery had instantly been able to tell that Mya was more than just a friend, no matter how vaguely Sansa introduced them.

It’s not a problem. Really. Even if Sansa has changed, no longer the sweet innocent girl that Margaery had fallen hard for back in sophomore year, there’s still something about her that makes Margaery’s heart race. She’d planned on getting Sansa back in her arms—and her bed—this trip, and the presence of some stranger didn’t change that.

“I know what you’re doing,” Mya says bluntly, stepping between Margaery and the car. Her short dark hair stands out in a messy halo around her head, and her tan arms show lean muscles where they wrap around the bag of produce in her arms. She’s not the kind of girl Margaery usually hangs out with, and she automatically wonders if Mya’s influence is what turned Sansa the way she is now—tough, slower to smile, with that unfamiliar dyed dark hair. Or, Margaery admits, it could have been all of the drama that happened at USC… those nine months of nonstop drama between Sansa, Joffrey’s family, and Margaery’s own. It would be unfair not to acknowledge that.

Mya shifts her weight, moving the paper bag of vegetables to her other hip. She isn’t smiling. “Look, I know you and Sansa used to have a thing. I just wanted to tell you if you know what’s best for her, you'll leave her alone.”

Well, someone wasn’t wasting any time. “What do you mean,” Margaery says clearly, too angry to make it a question. But by the look on Mya’s face, it’s obvious that the other girl is not even close to backing down. _What the fuck?_ Margaery’s been nothing but civil to Mya this whole trip, but now she guesses she knows why all of her attempts to charm Mya into conversation have been met by monosyllabic answers and unimpressed looks.

“I know that you probably had a lot to show Sansa, with your family and all your money. I get it, I can’t compete.” Mya sticks her chin out, takes a deep breath. “But what Sansa and I have is good for her. She really needs this right now.”

“I’m not trying to get in the way of anything,” Margaery says smoothly, almost coldly. “I’m just trying to be her friend.” But she can taste the lie on her lips. It doesn’t taste good.

Mya gives her a contemptuous look, and Margaery is almost impressed. It makes her feel a little sick to her stomach but also gratified in some way, to meet someone who sees through all her double-talk and isn’t afraid to call her on it.

“You really fucked her up, you know,” Mya says, suddenly quieter. “You don’t know what it’s been like for her.” She pauses, hesitating for the first time. “She still hasn’t—”

Mya lifts her head abruptly and stops talking. Margaery turns to see Sansa emerging from the low-slung building carrying a paper bag of peaches. Her still-unfamiliar dark hair is whipping around her face in the wind from the road, sky-blue sundress blowing to one side, and Margaery feels something squeeze in her chest, a potent mix of pain and wistfulness.

“You two comparing plans for San Francisco?” Sansa says easily, mouth lifting in a smile that’s almost carefree. She lifts one hand to shade her face from the sun, blue eyes widening as she comes nearer.

Margaery opens her mouth to answer, but Mya steps in front of her. “Yeah, just talking,” she says, and reaches out to take the paper bag from Sansa. “Let me get that,” she says, and as she turns to push past she gives Margaery a look that wipes the budding smile right off Margaery’s face. Mya disappears to pop the trunk of the Land Rover, and Sansa and Margaery are left there standing alone together.

“What was that?” Sansa says neutrally. Needing a moment, Margaery shakes back her hair, squinting off across the bright sunlit road. When she looks back at Sansa she’s startled to see the other girl staring back with a knowing expression, those blue eyes unblinking.

“Nothing,” Margaery says, unsettled. She tries to force a smile, but can’t. “Um, it… We were just chatting.”

“Okay,” says Sansa lightly, but the way she looks at Margaery makes Margaery’s skin go cold. Suddenly she sees that Mya is right—Sansa no longer trusts her, and never will.

She might have Sansa with her now, but she’ll never truly be able to get Sansa back. Not after what happened.

But who, Margaery realizes with a sick squeeze of feeling, does she have to blame for that but herself?

 


	10. Museum Visit (Catelyn/Brienne)

 

 

Catelyn’s hand is warm as she reaches out to touch Brienne’s arm. “And this is one of my favorite pieces in the whole place.”

Brienne hadn’t felt confident about coming to the museum; as she’d told Catelyn, it wasn’t as if she’d seen much modern art in Iraq, and as a ROTC student she already felt miles behind the other students despite being older than most of them. But Catelyn had insisted. This was of course, after they’d started making out in Catelyn’s office during lunch hour, and shortly after they’d graduated to quickies in Brienne’s car (folding down the backseat, practically fogging up the windows like two kids in college; she always felt so nervous like she was about to get caught—but Catelyn seemed to like it, to want the rush). Catelyn had insisted they get out and get some culture—go on a proper date, somewhere outside of the university.

Catelyn pauses to look at Brienne, her grey eyes cool and unclouded, and utterly confident. She had long red hair that she usually wore pinned up in an elegant knot, and a wedding ring that she now wore on a silver chain around her neck in respect for her husband. He had been a cop, head of the department. Maybe that was why Catelyn liked Brienne, Brienne sometimes reflected. But that was when she stopped to think about things rationally. Mostly she just thought about Catelyn, and her devotion to her. How she would do anything just to hold Catelyn’s hand, to study her like a textbook or a holy script.

Brienne’s always been the kind of person who needs to believe in something. The church was never a good option for her, given her inclinations; she’d come out of the army gently disillusioned and struggling to hold onto the ideals of the tenets that had first caused her to join up—patriotism, strength, humility. The army hadn’t been about any of that. But to devote herself to a quiet, gentle, unknowable older woman whose pain was not always entirely buried—Brienne can believe in that. She can believe in her own devotion.

Catelyn slips her hand into Brienne’s and pulls her along to the next room. In the few moments that they are holding hands, Brienne marvels that this is even a thing that could happen, that she could be holding hands with her former art history professor in a museum. That she could even be looking at a piece of art as beautiful and stunning and provocative as this one, and that it would make sense.

It all seems too good to be true.

 


	11. Flower Language (Sansa/Margaery)

 

“Sansa, what are you doing?” 

Sansa had gasped when she saw the flowers, the biggest and most gorgeous arrangement she’d ever seen. A profusion of pink, white, yellow, and blue, it was truly stunning. She’d already Instagrammed it and cross-posted to Facebook, not to mention excitedly texted her girlfriend a dozen times with a ton of smiley faces and hearts to show how happy she was about this unexpected present. But the bouquet had also come with a book, and a note.

 

_The Victorians used to communicate using the language of flowers instead of writing ordinary love letters. Can you figure out what I want to tell you?_

_xoxo Margaery_

 

Now Sansa brandished the book, _The Language of Flowers: What the Victorians Knew_ , in Arya’s face. Her sister hung in the doorway of Sansa’s bedroom, eyebrows raised skeptically. “It’s like a puzzle. I have to figure out what Margaery is trying to say to me.”

“Are you sure it just doesn’t say I want to finger you before fourth period, baby you turn me on?” Arya snickered as Sansa threw her the dirtiest of looks. “Okay, sorry.”

“If you’re not going to help, just go away.” Sansa turned back to her bouquet and her book, frenzy returning.

An hour and a half later, the book newly marked by a veritable rainbow of sticky flags and scribbled notes, Sansa excitedly picked up her phone.

Margaery answered on the third ring, her melodic voice sounding amused. “Hi, baby. So did you figure it out?”

“Yes.” Sansa took a breath, before proudly rattling off her results. “Marigold, hyacinth, and alstroemeria. ‘I love you wistfully, before we must part.’”

There was a noise on the phone that sounded like muffled laughter. “Actually… it’s chrysanthemum, lily, and white roses. ‘Beautiful, I will ever be at your side.’”

“Oh,” said Sansa, oddly disappointed.

“But you liked the flowers,” Margaery said, her voice comforting even over the phone.

“Of course. I loved them.”

“Well, next time we’ll just have to pick out the flowers together. And I can _teach_ you what they mean, hands-on.”

“That sounds perfect,” Sansa said breathlessly.

“I love you,” her girlfriend said, and it made Sansa’s body go all soft and woozy. 

“Love you too.”

 


	12. Author's Note

So I didn't make it to 30 days (big surprise), but Chapters 11 and 12 were in my drafts. Here are the rest of the prompts for my own reference, and if anyone is interested.

 

> 12\. Moving in together – **Cersei/Sansa** , older woman professor, definitely some creepy undertones… maybe Joffrey was murdered but Sansa didn’t get away. They take an apartment close to the university  
>  13\. Borrowed clothing – **Roslin Frey/Jeyne Westerling** , work bathroom when someone spills something on Roslin; Roslin feels humiliated  
>  14\. Snowed in – **Sansa/Mya** , staying up north at someone’s cabin for what was supposed to be a romantic fall getaway, Mya is the army brat from Georgia who’s not used to the cold conditions  
>  15\. Holiday – **Margaery/Elinor** , cousins at Christmas getting a little closer than usual. Margaery puts her hand up Elinor’s sweater while they’re in the kitchen.  
>  16\. Singing – **Myrcella/Sansa** , college a cappella group  
>  17\. Hopelessly lost – **Shireen/Arya** , lost on their way to soccer practice  
>  18\. Stargazing – **Asha/Arianne** , Asha knows all the stars because she’s good at navigation  
>  19\. Questionable fashion choices – **Cersei/Taena (or Melisandre)** , going out to the club together and Taena is wearing the tightest dress you could imagine. Cersei is hesitant about everyone seeing her with her lesbian rebound this way. The best solution is to take the dress off of Taena before they can even leave.  
>  20\. Tourist trap – **Gilly/Ygritte** , their boyfriends are off being dorks together at Medieval Times or something so they decide to have the best time possible, getting piss drunk together  
>  21\. Cooking adventure – **Asha/Dany** , Dany’s a vegan and Asha is severely struggling to be a supportive girlfriend when she’s really just clueless and a little frustrated  
>  22\. In uniform/fancy clothes – **Brienne/Arianne** , in uniform. Arianne is Brienne’s superior and is calling her out on something  
>  23\. Theme park – **Myrcella/Arya** , family trip together and these two hit it off while everyone else is busy  
>  24\. First night in bed – **Shireen/Myrcella** , both are shy and nervous  
>  25\. Classy (or not so classy) night out – **Lyanna/Catelyn** , uni friends… before Catelyn meets Brandon  
>  26\. Not according to plan – **Catelyn/Cersei** , two school mothers getting lost en route to a PTA meeting or having their car break down and being stuck together  
>  27\. Lost track of time – **Ygritte/Sansa** , making out while Jon’s not there  
>  28\. Proposal – **Daenerys/Margaery** , lying around their apartment; Dany works at a non-profit and Margaery is a lawyer  
>  29\. Wedding – **Margaery/Sansa** (I’ll go for the easy one here)  
>  30\. Honeymoon – **Arianne/Myrcella** , Arianne has always believed in Myrcella, knew she could get out from under the thumb of her family

 

 


End file.
